“That’s actually pretty good.”
Fuck it. If he was dragging skeletons out of his closet, he might as well go for broke. “Lucas.”
“Your nephew?”
“He’s my son.” Andrew gave her the Cliffs Notes version of finding out he was a dad when he was eighteen, and his reasons for both leaving Lucas with Kandace and wanting that to change now. He left out the conversion therapy information. There was only so much pain he could take in an evening.
Susan fiddled with a loose thread on the comforter. “Now I feel childish and immature, carrying on like I did, given what you’re going through.”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “My reasons for not sleeping with you have a teensy tiny bit to do with Mercy, but a whole lot more to do with me enjoying your company. I respect you. I’m choosing friendship over sex.”
“So if you couldn’t stand me?” A hint of teasing lay under her question.
It was nice to slide into the joking. “All other things being equal? I’d fuck the hell out of you.”
“Then damn me, for being sweet.”
“Damn you to hell.” With the story fading, he could breathe again. It left raw bits inside, but those would ice over with time. “Did you still want The Bistro for dinner?”
“Or you take me back to my car?”
“Only if you want to leave. Otherwise, we order room service and see what’s on HBO, while I find out what skeletons you’ve got in your closet.”
She patted the bed next to her. “Only if you join me over here. I promise to behave and keep my hands to myself.”
“Give up a secret first.” He tried to keep his tone light.
“Um…” She screwed up her face. “When I was seventeen, I lied about my age, in order to audition as a Jazz cheerleader.”
He moved to sit next to her on the bed and grabbed the room service menu in the process. “That needs a lot more embellishment. Pick what you want for dinner, and we’ll work on adding a little flair to your story.” If he kept this up a little longer, he could stuff the past back in its box—that was the plan. Having her here was numbing old wounds, and that was a good start.